“I’ll need to be caught up on everything that’s happened,” she said quietly, more to herself than to either of them.
“Don’t worry about that now. Tonight, we’re celebrating.” Her father nudged the goblet toward her. “Drink. It might help.”
Jakobav leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk cutting across his face. “I’m not sure that’s wise. I’ve seen what happens when Ellandria drinks Fae wine.”
Ella sputtered into her drink, coughing, then smacked him squarely in the chest. He didn’t even flinch, only raised his brows with infuriating calm.
Marisol giggled behind the decanter.
Eryndor’s smile faltered, eyes widening as his posture stiffened.
“Forgive me,” he said after a beat, steadying his voice. “Your…friendship…may take time to get used to. Last I knew, striking the heir of Dravaryn could start a war.”
Ella laughed, reckless and unguarded.
Jakobav’s smile looked real this time. And it was devastating.
A tall, dark-skinned man with rolled sleeves paused beside her, coaxing a hibiscus into a harmless ember-bloom with a flickof his fingers. A soft rush of warmth brushed her arm, carrying the sweet-sharp scent of singed petals before fading.
“Say the word, and I’ll light his boots,” he murmured.
Ella’s grin widened, sudden and fond, as she recognized her childhood friend despite how much he’d changed—still handsome, somehow even more magnetic. She leaned to clasp him in a quick half-hug. “Permission to stand down, Demetrius.”
He tipped two fingers in salute and vanished back into the crowd.
From the corner of her eye, Ella caught Jakobav’s raised brow, the question in it impossible to miss. She pursed her lips and gave the faintest shake of her head—a silent promise of “don’t worry.”
Music rose, jubilant, filling the hall with the churn of silk skirts, stomping boots, and laughter. Ella’s heart twisted. Her mother had loved dancing—so had she—but tonight the sound scraped raw. Their joy felt like a betrayal of Queen Serenya. Ella sat straighter, forcing her face into what the court needed most: hope.
“I know it’s difficult, but your return brings them light,” her father murmured, his hand warm and heavy over hers.
The musicians played louder, couples whirled faster, and Ella forced herself to watch. Surely nothing could feel worse than this performance while her bones still rattled with sorrow.
And then the doors opened.
Caelen Verelith entered the great hall with a glide of silk, his expression holding the same golden arrogance she remembered all too well. He walked straight toward her and paused, offering a deep, unnecessary bow. This was another childhood friend, once almost something more. Why the formality? And gods, he looked different. He’d grown into his features, carried himself with a style that finally fit.
“Ellandria,” he murmured, voice meant for her alone—smooth, gentle. “You look radiant tonight.”
Then he turned toward her father with the smile that courtiers used to climb thrones. “Your Majesty. What a triumph tonight is. Orchid is blessed by your leadership, truly.”
Eryndor offered a small smile, wary but gracious.
Caelen shifted back to Ella, lowering his voice until only she could hear. “When I heard the news of your return…I was so relieved. Orchid needs stability. And you need someone…who understands what you’ve been raised for.”
Ella’s spine stiffened. Jakobav drifted behind her, his demeanor stoic, as unmovable as a guard refusing to leave his post.
Caelen glanced at him, polite curiosity masking what looked a little bit like contempt. “And you brought a guest,” he said pleasantly. “Dravaryn’s heir, no less. How diplomatic of you, Ellandria.”
Jakobav took a step forward and smiled without warmth. “Diplomacy isn’t what brought me here.”
“Mm,” Caelen hummed, still casual, still smiling. “So I gathered.”
He smoothed a hand through his light brown, slicked-back hair and, with a slow inhale, stepped closer—too close—his breath brushing her jaw as if he had a right to be there. The sour trace of wine clung to him.
“You and I have unfinished plans we need to discuss,” he murmured. “Your mother agreed that Orchid needed a united front. A mating ceremony to solidify it. You at my side.”
Ella’s blood chilled.
